Helping the Client
by Gamma Orionis
Summary: Percy has tried to make the work he takes on outside the Ministry as clinical as he can manage. It's so dreadfully inconvenient to become emotionally invested in the circumstances of a client. Written for hp-sexstars on LiveJournal.


Author's Notes: Written for hp_sexstars on LiveJournal, a fest with slash pairings and sex workers as the theme.

Prompt: "_Twice a year, Percy Weasley takes two weeks' holiday from his job at the Ministry. But he doesn't go to Brixton or Paris or Rome as he pretends. No, Percy sells himself-expensively, very expensively-as a sub to the highest bidder. For two weeks, Percy satisfies his master's every need-and leaves with money enough to continue a life in relative luxury."_

Warnings: Prostitution, infidelity, age difference (approximately 30 years).

)O(

Percy's bag was packed. His work papers were locked up in the bottom drawer of his desk so that he wouldn't feel compelled to think about them until he got back. A few sets of clothing – tidy, professional-looking clothing – were folded up tidily, and folded in with them were a quill, a bottle of ink, and the notebook in which he kept his meticulous records.

Those records would be very important.

He glanced around his flat, checking once again to be sure that nothing was out of order. To his pleasure, everything looked perfectly tidy and put together. It all looked exactly right for the flat of a young Ministry employee who was taking two weeks off work for his health. After all, he needed that time off in such troubled times.

He had been worried that the Minister would not approve of him taking his customary two week holiday this year. Security had been tightened a thousand fold since the war had begun in earnest and Percy had been wary of requesting to leave work, even for a short and routine break. But the Minister had signed his application for holiday time with barely a second glance.

Which meant that, for two weeks, Percy was free.

_Well, perhaps not _free_. Free of the Ministry, at least._

Percy looked at himself in the mirror, studying his reflection. He smoothed his hair down with his hands, wishing, as he always did, that it was not such a bright and garish shade of red. His freckles had faded some over the past years, for which he was deeply grateful. He thought that his appearance was much improved without them.

He removed his horn-rimmed glasses, wondering whether he would look better without them, then put them back on quickly. Better to look bad and see well than to look good and see badly. And he could always remove them later, after all.

He glanced around one more time, then hoisted his bag more securely onto his shoulder and Disapparated.

He had arranged to meet his client (he liked the word _client_ to describe the man who had hired him; it made the matter sound more professional, less visceral, and it was Percy's preference to remove all that was visceral and unpleasant from the work he spent a pair of two week periods every year doing) in the Leaky Cauldron. It was the usual way – the way that he had done it every time since the first time he had arranged a _holiday_like this. It had taken Percy rather a lot of time and convincing – and many letters sent between him and his client – before he had convinced him to meet him there, but he had managed it eventually. Percy set the terms, after all. The client had to accept them if he wanted him.

Percy nodded at Tom the barman and sat down at the end of the bar. He glanced around briefly, checking the pub for familiar faces and people who might wish to strike up an unwanted conversation, and, finding none, he leaned against the wall, trying to look at once casual and alert. He wanted to look professional as always, after all. He wanted to look like this was a job that he was entirely used to. Like his heart wasn't practically exploding in his chest.

If his family had known what he did – if his family had known that his holidays were only trips to the house of whatever man hired him out, he could only _imagine_what sort of things they would say. He was sure that the word "whore" would come up, and "disgrace to the family", as if the family had any reputation left for him to damage.

And as if being a sex worker was the worst thing that anyone in his family did.

He liked the term "sex worker" for what he did. It made it sound clinical and clean – "sex worker" drew to mind someone who might work out of an office and wear a uniform. "Prostitute" – the most common alternative – made Percy think of poorly dressed women and men who lounged on the sides of streets. "Rent boy" sounded altogether too demeaning. "Escort" wasn't bad – it sounded more high-class than the alternatives, which Percy thought appropriate, given how much he charged – but it also sounded a little bit too flowery, which was hardly how things were.

Not that it _really_mattered what Percy's clients called him, so long as they abided by his rules and paid him at the end of their two weeks. That was all that really mattered.

That, and that the general public didn't find out.

The pub was a little too quiet for Percy's liking. In past years – even last year, when the war had already been raging – it had always been busy enough that no one could be watching over Percy and his transactions. This time, when Percy's client walked in, anyone would be able to hear and see exactly what was happening.

For a time, the bar was extremely quiet, with only the sounds of people picking up and setting down their drinks to break the silence.

The a hooded figure stepped in.

Percy forced himself not to show his automatic fear. Death Eaters were not to be encountered with fear anymore, but with respect and dignity – if one valued one's life, at any rate. Percy inclined his head politely towards the figure, indicating a subservient sort of greeting, then turned away and watched him from the corner of his eye. But he did not turn and leave the pub, nor did he pass through to Diagon Alley. He stood a long moment, then approached Percy.

Percy's heart sank.

"May I help you, sir?" he asked as politely as he could. He tried to keep his face smooth and innocent – it was as the Minister always said, after all; he would have nothing to fear so long as he had nothing to hide. And he had nothing to hide. Nothing that would interest the Death Eaters, at any rate.

"Percy Weasley?" he asked. His voice was low, and though there was a coarse, scratchy quality to it, he spoke slowly and luxuriantly, as if he had had a beautiful voice once, very long ago, and had not yet become accustomed to being without it.

"Yes, sir." Terror tightened Percy's stomach. How did the Death Eater know his name? It could not be a good thing that he did. It surely meant that he, Percy, had been put on some sort of list and was being tracked down for some sort of crime…

"The prostitute?"

Percy jolted. The word _prostitute _was startling and not something that he cared for under the best of circumstances. And this was hardly the best of circumstances.

"I prefer–" he began, but the Death Eater silenced him with a raised hand.

"I am not concerned with how you refer to your profession," he said. "But if you are Percy Weasley, the prostitute, then I am paying for you. Come with me."

Percy struggled momentarily to think of some reason that he couldn't go, but if this man was paying for him – _if he had, inadvertently, sold himself to a Death Eater _– then he could think of no way to avoid the situation.

He smiled politely and stood up, offering his hand to the Death Eater, who, in lieu of shaking it politely, grasped him firmly by his wrist and Disapparated.

It was terrifying. The whole situation was terrifying. The best that Percy could do was keep what he hoped was a charming and professional smile on his face and try not to act too much as though the wind had been knocked out of him when they landed. The Death Eater – _who hadn't even provided his name; how impolite of him _– glanced from side to side quickly, then tightened his grip on Percy's arm and dragged him forward, up to the gates of a tall and imposing manor house.

Percy shuddered.

He kept his eyes on the ground, preferring to study the gravel rather than the house. He was internally berating himself – what had he been _thinking_? He should have known that sooner or later, he would get himself in trouble with this little side job. And he should have refused his client when he wouldn't give a name or address – it had unnerved Percy a little when he received the letter requesting to know his terms of employment, but (_stupidly_) he hadn't insisted that the name be disclosed, or asked where his client worked, or asked where they would be going when he was hired… he had just _assumed _that they would discuss those details when they met, as he had done with all his past clients…

_Stupid, stupid, stupid!_

He heard a crackling of the gravel on the other side of the gates, and then he heard a woman laugh and say, in a voice choked with mirth, "Rodolphus – what _are _you trying to bring into the manor?"

"Let us in, Bellatrix." The Death Eater's voice was brusque and firm and Percy thought – without daring to look up – that he detected a note of shame in it.

"Is that a _Weasley_? Where did you find it, Rodolphus – I thought that you were out looking for a whore, not for members of the Order of the Phoenix… and why would you want to bring it in?"

"He is a whore," the man – _Rodolphus, Rodolphus Lestrange, who had escaped Azkaban just two years ago_– said firmly. "Let us in. He's mine."

The woman – _Bellatrix; that was his wife, wasn't it? _Percy thought he recalled the name from the endless lists of Death Eaters that he had poured over last year – let out a shriek of laughter.

"Oh, but this _is_ a new low for you, Rodolphus!" she cried. Percy looked up in time to see her hand shoot between the bars of the gate. She clawed at him and caught his chin in her hand, turning it from side to side. "A _Weasley_… you are spending our fortune on favours from a _Weasley_? Surely you can find _someone_else who will go to bed with you…"

"Who I take to bed is not any of your concern, Bellatrix – not anymore." Rodolphus slapped her hand away sharply. "You lost the right to comment on my choice of partner when you chose to go to bed with the Dark Lord."

Bellatrix let out a sharp hiss and her hand snapped back in through the gate. "You _will not say–_"

"I will say whatever I please, when it concerns you and our Master." Percy dared to glance at Rodolphus and saw his lip curl. He looked completely disgusted with his wife, but Percy was unsure how much of that was Percy's own interpretation and how much was what Rodolphus was actually feeling. "And you will _let us in_."

"I will not!" Bellatrix slid her hands through the bar again, covering the lock with them as she glared at Percy and Rodolphus. "You will not take him into the manor! You know what the Dark Lord would say if he knew that you were bringing a blood traitor in–"

Rodolphus whipped out his wand and Percy skipped back, reaching for his own wand, which was tucked into his belt. He didn't want to get into a fight (_no, that was absolutely the _last_ thing that he wanted_) but he wanted to be able to protect himself when the time came.

Bellatrix glanced from her husband's face to his wand, then let go of the lock and stepped back slowly. "If he finds out anything… if you do not keep control over him, make no mistake, the Dark Lord _will _hear…"

"I will keep control over him, you can be sure," Rodolphus interrupted coldly. "And I will have you know that I requested permission from the Dark Lord before I brought him here. Precautions will be taken."

"Fine." Bellatrix stepped back from the gates and drew her own wand, pointing it at the lock, which sprung open. Rodolphus grasped Percy by his arm again and dragged him through, past Bellatrix, and up into the manor.

Percy kept his eyes on the ground and tried to breathe deeply and steadily. His heart was beating quickly and – he thought – a little erratically, and he was finding it very difficult to walk, or even to _think_. If it had not been for Rodolphus's grip on his arm, he felt quite sure that he would not have been able to remember how to climb the stairs.

"In here." Rodolphus gave him a firm shove and he stumbled through a doorway, barely catching himself before he fell. He turned around and looked up at Rodolphus warily.

Rodolphus shut the door and looked him up and down, with a critical eye that made Percy squirm.

"Right…" Rodolphus nodded at him, apparently satisfied by his appearance. "As I suppose you see, you aren't exactly… _welcome _here."

"I can see that, yes." Percy cleared his throat and reached for his bag, keeping an eye on Rodolphus to be sure that he didn't interpret his movement as threatening. He was trying so _very_hard not to let himself appear unnerved. He wanted to seem like he did things like this every day.

_Ha. Hardly._

"I think," Percy said, and his voice shook a little. He cleared his throat and started again. "I think we should discuss the, er… terms of- terms of my employment." He took his notebook out of the bag and flipped it open. "I charge fifty thousand galleons as a flat rate for the two weeks, as we've discussed…" He glanced up quickly, wary of Rodolphus and his wand and hoping that the expenses would not put him off too violently. Rodolphus inclined his head slightly. "And an additional hundred galleons for each mark you leave on me that does not fade within the hour. If you wish to involve anyone else–"

"I do not," Rodolphus interrupted.

"But if you do…" Percy swallowed hard, unwilling to interrupt, but recalling how _very_important it was to clarify all terms with a client before any sex occurred, "there will be another thousand galleons for each person who is involved. This includes voyeurs, additional partners–"

"_No one else will be involved_," he repeated firmly. "I have no interest in sharing you. As, I am sure, you will understand."

"Yes, sir." Percy cleared his throat again and glanced back down at the notebook. "At the end of two weeks, I will take my payment and then leave–"

"Quite right, you will." A small sneer curved Rodolphus's lips. "And you will have the good sense not to spread around rumours about me, I assume…"

"Naturally, sir." Percy nodded quickly. "I do not spread rumours. Though… if I may be so bold as to ask…" He hesitated, wondering whether it was unwise for him to pose the question, then finally managed to say, "I- I do wonder- if you do not wish for information of- of you hiring me to become public, why you told your wife…?"

"She will not tell anyone." Rodolphus waved his hand through the air, waving Bellatrix away. "She would not want people to know that her husband has hired a man like you…"

"Yes, sir." Percy was quick to drop the matter. He closed his notebook swiftly and set it down in his bag again. "That's all, then – and now, you're free to do as you wish to me… until the two weeks are over, of course."

Rodolphus looked terribly satisfied at that. Percy shivered a little – there was a sense of danger to the situation that he tried _terribly _hard to push from his mind.

"Good," he said. "Undress. Let me look at you."

Percy nodded and hastened to remove his robes, shirt and trousers, folding them neatly at the foot of the bed. Rodolphus let out a quiet moan when he straightened up and faced him.

"Good…" Rodolphus said, and there was a catch of lust in his voice. "Very good. Kneel down…"

Percy dropped to his knees immediately. He wondered for a moment whether he ought to take off his glasses now – but surely, if Rodolphus wanted him to, he would tell him.

"And come forward…"

He shuffled forward on his knees so that he was just in front of Rodolphus, enjoying the slight thrill of expectation that ran through him when he undid his robes. Hiring himself out like this was nothing like he expected a proper relationship would be, but just because he knew that he was little more than a vessel into which men could pour their pent-up frustrations, just because he was not actually_wanted_, that did not mean that he could not enjoy it.

"Don't make a sound," Rodolphus ordered, and Percy nodded, opening his mouth willingly and shivering a little when he felt Rodolphus's cock slide between his lips. He closed his eyes and opened his mouth wide, relaxing his tongue and throat and allowing Rodolphus to thrust deep into his mouth. He twined his fingers through Percy's hair and thrust slowly and rhythmically against him. When Percy opened his eyes and glanced up, he saw Rodolphus's head tipped back and his eyes shut.

Hardly any sort of surprise. Clients usually didn't care to _look _at Percy, especially at the beginning. They were all too busy enjoying their fantasies of power, and, more often than not, imagining some object of their lust to be in his place. That was, he presumed, why Rodolphus had ordered him not to make a sound…

He swirled his tongue lightly around the head of his cock and another thrill ran through his body when Rodolphus moaned. Pleasing him was erotic – so it always was when he was servicing a client…

"Get up," Rodolphus ordered, pulling back, and Percy struggled to his feet immediately, swallowing down the taste that lingered in his mouth. Rodolphus grabbed him firmly by his shoulders, turned him around and pressed him face down onto the bed.

Percy couldn't help letting out a quiet groan while Rodolphus pushed his face into the pillow. It was difficult to breathe, and that made it all the more pleasurable – it seemed to heighten his senses, and his whole body jolted a little when he felt Rodolphus's fingers slide into him. He did his best to relax, but couldn't resist bucking a little. It felt _so_good…

"Stay _still!_" Rodolphus ordered, and Percy froze. Stars were popping in front of his eyes from lack of oxygen, but just when he thought that he was going to faint, Rodolphus's hand left the back of his head and he was able to turn it just enough to get in a gasp of clean air.

The air left his lungs in a sigh of pleasure when Rodolphus slid inside him.

Percy dug his fingers into the blanket and bit down hard on his tongue. Rodolphus wasn't gentle, which Percy supposed was to be expected. His cock – though slickened from Percy's saliva – chafed at him a little and he seemed to have no concern for his discomfort (_no surprise – he probably enjoyed it, if his and his wife's propensity for torturing people in the past was any indication_). But the discomfort lessened and the pleasure increased with every thrust that Rodolphus gave him. Percy found himself edging towards an orgasm, and from the speed and loss of control in his movements, he could only assume that Rodolphus coming approaching his own climax.

Percy stifled a soft moan in the pillow when Rodolphus's cock grazed his prostate. His muscles tensed and he tried to breathe deeply and think about something that was _not_ sex. Some of the men who had hired him hadn't cared when – or if – he came, but Percy thought it better to assume that, if Rodolphus wanted him to finish, he would say so. It practically _hurt _to hold back any sort of reaction.

Rodolphus swore softly, and then let out a moan and Percy felt a rush of hot liquid inside himself. He bit down firmly on his tongue and closed his eyes, breathing deeply. _Fuck_, but it felt good…

"_Bella…_" he could hear Rodolphus moan, and, despite all the circumstances, Percy couldn't help feeling a little twinge of sympathy. He had never been with a married man before, and something about it felt unbearably tragic. Hearing their conversation when he was brought in, knowing how little Bellatrix wanted her husband and knowing that Rodolphus was taking him as a substitute…

_Should not be something that makes you feel sympathy for him._

He pulled out and when several moments passed and Percy didn't feel any more movement, he dared to turn around.

Rodolphus had turned away. He was staring out the window, over the grounds, and Percy wondered whether he was actually looking at something or just desperate not to make eye contact.

"Sir?" he asked tentatively.

Rodolphus looked back at him. His face was stony.

"You were… most satisfactory," he said, with a voice that was completely free of emotion. He reached for his robes, looking away from Percy again. "You will stay in this room until I return."

"Yes, sir," Percy said quietly.

As he watched Rodolphus redress and sweep out of the bedroom, Percy had to remind himself what a terrible, thoughtless, careless arrangement this had been. He had to remind himself that he hadn't meant to get into this situation and that he did _not_want anything more to do with his client than was absolutely necessary.

But he couldn't help feeling like, perhaps, he was doing something noble by being here to satisfy Rodolphus.

_Nothing in this situation goes beyond duty,_ he reminded himself. _This is a job. Nothing more._

But even if it _was _just a job, it was surely a good thing that he was at least allowing Rodolphus some outlet for the frustration he must have felt at his wife.

Just because Percy was being paid was no reason not to consider it a good deed.

)O(

_Fin_


End file.
